PS: Do I really have to say it?
by highway-salvation
Summary: The Ryan/Dean version of PS: I Love You. In this AU, The Winchesters/Ryan have gotten past the apocalypse, and now face an even bigger threat. Dean has a brain tumor, and is told he has six weeks left to live.
1. Six Weeks

"We're looking at about six weeks here, folks. At the most. I'm truly sorry," Dr. Panabaker revealed. At that, everything seemed to go hazy. The walls began to blend into the windows, the sunlight that was fading in suddenly corrupted by the cement bricks that seemed to be crashing together before her.

But then it all stopped. The bricks were back in place, the unbroken window continuing to allow sunlight into a room that deserved no illumination.

Ryan's grip on Dean's hand had become so tight that her knuckles were losing color.

But there were no tears. It hadn't sunk deep enough for there to be tears yet.

"There's got to be something you can do, some kind of treatment, an operation," she pleaded.

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Singer. This tumor is malignant, and it's been resting above Dean's eye for much longer than it should have been. Even if we were to operate, or try chemotherapy, there would be no use. It's just too late," the sorrow in his voice was apparent. He wanted there to be another option. He wanted to save Dean. But there was nothing anyone could do.

He was going to die. In six weeks. At the most.

Ryan tore her gaze away from the doctor's saddened eyes to look at Dean. The look in his eyes shook her. It was a look that never suited Dean Winchester very well. Defeat. Complete, and utter, defeat.

"Again, I'm very sorry," Panabaker repeated, making a graceful exit.

But her eyes never left his. He continued to stare at the ground, searching for an impossible solution to this problem.

"How are we gonna beat this?" the barely audible question hung in the air, her eyes shutting tightly after she'd spoken. It was like saying it out loud had made it all real. And now they had to face it for what it was. It wasn't a vampire or a shapeshifter that they could find a weapon to use against. All of the weapons were useless.

"We're not," he replied assertively, and the first tear fell down her cheek.


	2. Chapter 1

The house still smells like him. Especially in our bedroom. A heavenly mix of the outdoors, cheap cologne and leather. At first, it made me sick to my stomach, to the point where I'd find myself kneeling before the toilet whenever I walked into my bedroom. But now, I'm thankful for it. It makes it seem like he's still around, leaving that scent behind as he walks through the rooms of our home.

But that's merely an illusion. And an unhealthy one at that.

Dean's gone. And he's not coming back this time.

I still shudder at this thought, knowing that no one is going to voluntarily pull Dean Winchester out of heaven. He no longer has a purpose on earth.

But that was the thing. We'd beaten the apocalypse, sent Lucifer on a straight shot back to damnation. We were going to take our best stab at being normal, having kids, coaching soccer and troop-leading girl scouts.

And then Dean started complaining about headaches.

We didn't think anything of it at first, probably just the stress of the new job, actually having to wake up every morning and answer to a boss. He didn't really like that.

But they only got worse. And they were in a specific spot above his left eye.

I knew that nothing good was going to come of it, and when we got the news about the tumor, I felt like a part of my world had been torn away like a bandaid being ripped from the skin to quickly. I was lost. And Dean wouldn't admit it, but he was lost too. And afraid. This was different than the demon deal that sent him to hell for four months. This was something bigger. Something he would never be able to defeat, no matter how many big, bad demons he killed. This was something inside of him, something that was killing him more and more every day.

A knock sounds at the door, and immediately, I grimace. I'm not fond of visitors these days, especially when I know exactly who they are. It's always either my sister, Emily or Sam. Sam comes a lot more frequently than Emily, considering she lived a good three hours away. But that doesn't stop her from showing up regularly. She's here at least once a week. She tries her best to take care of me.

I know it's Sam because it's Sunday.

"How are we doin' today, Ry?" he asks, sincerely worried.

"I'm fine," it's the same response every day. I feel no motivation to find a better word to describe my current state. Despite the fact that I'm lying, I don't want to tell him that I'm dying more and more every single day I wake up without Dean next to me.

But he understands, and he nods in reply. He walks into the kitchen, puts on a pot of tea, and then comes back into the living room to sit next to me on the couch. He carries a newspaper in his left hand, and I know exactly what he's going to do.

He does this every Sunday, and every Sunday, I thank God that I have someone in my life that can relate to this incredible, mind-numbing pain that I feel in every bone in my body. I feel it with every breath I take, and every time I close my eyes, it all comes to a peak and for a minute, I cease to breathe. I know Sam feels it too. He lost his brother. His best friend. His rock. His hole is just as big as mine.

"Oh, whatdoyaknow, we're continuing to spend more money, fight about the Healthcare Reform and--oh, well, at least Brad and Angelina are still going strong," Sam says with a smile laced in his voice.

This makes my lips curl up slightly.

"Sounds like every day," I reply dryly, the life in my voice that used to be so prominent now completely non-existent. Maybe it'd come back one day. Maybe it wouldn't. Thankfully, no one was too disappointed when they didn't hear it.

"Yep, not much has changed since last sunday."

He stands again, returning to the kitchen to fix us both a cup of tea. He fixes mine exactly the way I like it, and when I feel the hot, caffeinated liquid streaming down my throat, I feel better. My eyes open a little bit wider and I've almost surpassed the constant haze. But that feeling is only temporary.

He finds his seat next to me again, leaning forward to retrieve the remote control. With a click of a button, the temporary high that the tea had awarded me suddenly vanishes.

Before me is _CSI: New York_, blaring from the television with anger and absurdity. At least that's how it seemed to me. My eyes shut tightly and I fought away tears, I fought away the lightheadedness. I didn't want to have to explain to Sam why I'd suddenly fainted while watching television.


	3. Chapter 2

_"You know, all of this is crap. Sarah finds one drop of semen, and she automatically knows that Jesse is the one that killed Amelia? I don't buy it. You don't just find semen lying around like that, nobody ever gets that lucky," he spat out, angry at the television that hung above his hospital bed._

_"It's a TV show, Dean," I argued, digging my spoon into the plastic container to get the last bits of lime jello. Dean hated it, so he always gave it to me._

_"Whatever, they shouldn't put stuff on TV that's that out of wack. People could get the wrong idea," he continued to fight, but I didn't mind. At least he was around to fight with me._

_I eyed him, and he shrugged with this eyebrows. He pushed away his empty tray, trails of disgust still outlining his features._

_"I'm tellin' you, prison food is better than this crap. I don't even think they microwave it all the way. They just figure since everyone around here's dyin', they're not gonna care what they eat. They got another thing coming."_

_"Anything else you wanna complain about, Francis?"_

_"Hey, who's the cancer patient here?"_

_"Dean..."_

_I didn't like when he joked about it. Like it was something he knew he'd eventually muddle his way through. When, in reality, we both knew he wouldn't._

_"Alright, alright. But what's it gonna take to get some decent food? A bacon cheeseburger, a piece of cherry pie... ugh," he made a peculiar noise and patted his stomach, a smug smile folding in his lips.  
I shook my head, mirroring his smile. He would never change. But that was okay with me. I loved him just the way he was. High cholesterol and all. I stood up, taking on the role of Wonder Woman and standing over him, my smug smile turning to a grin._

_"Ask and you shall receive." I hinted, leaning down to kiss his forehead before briskly walking out of the room._

The machine has 23 unheard messages. I know at least 10 of them are Emily, another 10, probably Sam, and the rest, possibly my former boss calling to see if I'm ever going to return to work.

I couldn't imagine facing the world again. Not without him holding my hand. Not without him giving me that push that I always needed to get through another day.

I couldn't do it without him. I wouldn't. And all those messages were were reminders that someday, I was going to have to.

Sam had left after hugging me and kissing me on the forehead, letting me know for the thousandth time that he was always there if I ever needed anything. He always did that before he left.

I return to my original, most used position of sitting on the couch with the television on mute. There's no doubt that they way I'm dealing with Dean's death is healthy, but it's the only way I know how. When my father died, Dean was at my side, pulling me along through the darkness. He always knew the right way to hold me to make me fall asleep, he always knew the right way to light up Bobby's life as to take emphasis off of his death. He got me through it all.

How would I get pulled through the darkness this time?

And this darkness wasn't the same darkness that had enveloped me in light of my fathers death. This was a new darkness, a strange darkness that seemed impossible to defeat.

The phone rings, and for some unknown reason, I reach out to answer it. It's my sister. Hearing her voice slows my heart rate, and I take a deep breath before I answer her worried inquiry.

"Im fine, Em. Really." I lie.

"Yeah, yeah, save that for someone who might actually believe it," she reminds me so much of my dad that it's scary, but also comforting. "Listen, there's a letter here for you. There's no return address, but on the back flap it says to open on February 9th. Which, my darling sister, is today. You want me to bring it over?"

I think about it for a minute and realize that I haven't showered in at least three days, and I haven't stepped foot into the fresh air in over two weeks.

"Uhh, no. I'll come get it," I reply, and I can almost hear her jaw hit the floor.

"Are you sure? I mean, you haven't driven in--"

"Yes. I'm coming."


	4. Chapter 3

After a refreshing shower, I throw on some sweats and mentally prepare myself for the first step I will take out in the real world. Sam always keeps me updated on politics, environmental crisises and entertainment. But I haven't stepped outside. Not in weeks.

The drive to Emily's house, thankfully, is completely relaxing. With the windows rolled down and the radio on, I start to feel a shred of normality. A bit like my old self.

I pull into the driveway after what seems like a road trip cut short, and I adjust my comfortable sweater. I make sure my hair hasn't turned into a huge bird's nest because of the wind, and I slowly approach Emily's front door. The numbers 102 stare at me as I wait for her to let me in, and when she finally comes to the door, I can feel the corners of my heart perk up into a smile. She always has a way of brightening my mood, even when she doesn't know it.

"My lovely sister," she greets in a sing-song voice, taking me into her arms and squeezing as tightly as she can without breaking me in half. She's strong these days, and I'm quite the opposite. "It's so, so good to see you."

"You too. You have no idea."

She has no idea how truthful that statement is.

"Come in, come in. Danny just put on a pot of tea."

I step further into the apartment, and I can smell the distinct mix of my sister's perfume and Danny's cologne. But there's also a hint of something that only I'd be able to recognize. A peculiar mix of dirt, sweat and blood. The smell that constantly hangs around a hunter. And that's what they were--a couple of hunters. As the smell fills my nostrils, it wraps itself conveniently around my heart and ties into a tight knot. I remember this smell very well. They say that scent is the most memory-trigging of the senses, and I have no objection to this theory. Every time I smell something that remotely reminds me of my life with my hunter, I feel bile in my throat. I feel the absence of my heart in my chest.

"Ryan! So good to see you out and about."

I turn to see Danny, my sister's husband, walking towards me with a comforting smile. I've always liked Danny--and when they got married, part of me wanted to fit in the mold and make Dean marry me, but I was always too scared to ask. Well, until it was too late, anyway.

"It's good to _be_ out and about, it's nice to smell something besides stale air conditioner," I say as I fold my arms around him.

"Sit. I'll fix us some tea."

Emily ushers me into the living room as Danny disappears back into the kitchen.

"How are you doin', big sister?"

"I'm getting there, I think."

Again, this is the best answer I can think of. She'll never go for _'I'm fine'_, and if I did answer that, she would just probe me more to get a more adequate response. Like I said, she's our father's daughter.

"Two months of being cooped up in that house... I thought you'd look like Kirstie Alley by now."

"I think that would require me to eat..."

"Ryan," the tone in her voice changes dramatically, I can tell she is genuinely worried about me.

"I'm getting better, Em. I'm trying."

"I know."

Danny returns with three cups of tea, sets the on the coffee table and takes his place next to his Emily. Before he gets comfortable, he pulls a white envelope off of the lamp stand on his side of the couch.

"I believe this is for you," he says as he hands me the envelope.

It only takes one glance, a split second, and the room starts to shrink. The walls are closing in, pulsating with every second that passes. Emily and Danny are silenced, I don't even know if they're trying to talk to me.

I look at the envelope once more, where I see my name above Emily's address. But the thing is, I know exactly whose handwriting it is. And that fact is what's causing my panic attack.

"Ry... you okay?" Emily asks, her voice miles away.

My breathing has deepened, my heartrate increasing dramatically. I'm frightened, excited and destroyed all at the same time. I don't answer her. I attempt to nod, but my focus is on the small white envelope that is weighing down on my fingertips.

"Open it," Danny commands.

I look up to him, my eyes searching for the assurance that this is real, not some kind of terrible dream that I will have to wake up from. He nods assertively, an encouraging smile on his lips.

With extreme caution, I rip at the sticky flap until the letter is exposed. I pull it out, unfold it, and stare at it with complete awe. It's in his handwriting too.

My heart refuses to beat.

It seems the only thing that I am able to do is read the words before me.

_Singer,_

_This is not a letter to tell you how much I love you, or how much I am going to miss you when I get to wherever it is I'm goin'. I don't have to tell you that. What I do need to tell you is that you are not going to spend the next year of your life pouting and crying over lil ole' me. I won't let it happen. So, I've concocted a semi-brilliant plan that will help you get the hell out of that house and see the world that you always wanted to see. It's all gonna get better in time, baby. Just follow my rules and I promise, things are gonna get easier. You gotta trust me.  
_

_Try not to get yourself killed, okay?_

-Dean  
  
_PS: Do I really have to say it?_


	5. Chapter 4

_My anger was at an all time high as I huffed and puffed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. What kind of high horse did he sit on, thinking that he knew what was best for me? He must have been high. I sat on the toilet, bouncing my feet as I tried to calm down, knowing that if I were to go back into the bedroom that I'd completely blow a fuse. To hell with that, he deserved a new asshole ripped._

_"Who do you think you are, Dean Winchester? My father?!" I hollered as I stormed back into the bedroom._

_"I think you need to go back into that bathroom before you say something you might regret," his back was turned to me as I spoke, which only irritated me even more._

_"No."_

_He turned around, a look on his face that I'd seen many times before._

_He was ready for a fight._

_"Look, all I'm sayin' is... having a kid right now wouldn't be the best idea. Deep down, you know that's true! I'm trying to have a normal life here, just as much as you are. But we just got past the big battle. And all of the demons didn't just die because we sent Lucifer back to his cage. They're still out there, and our kid will be nothing but a big shiny target for all of them."_

_I knew he was right. But the stubborness in me didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to let him win._

_"So, what then? We wait around for another five, ten years, become the All-American couple and then maybe have a baby? I don't want to wait for the day that you're not scared anymore, Dean, that day's never gonna come," I argued. "There will always be some excuse, some terrible thing that keeps you from wanting to really start a normal life. There's always something." _

_"What do you want me to do? I gave up my life for you. We sit back and turn the other cheek while our family is out there, hunting down the evil sons of bitches that are still killing innocent people. I do that for you. And it's not enough! It's never enough!"_

_I thought about what he was saying for a minute. He was right, in every aspect. He'd given up his career--the only life he'd ever known, for me. Sam had tried to start a normal life as well, but soon fell back into the routine as a hunter. And then there was Emily and Danny, the married hunters that fought evil together. They were the perfect model of what I didn't want Dean and I to be. I couldn't handle that kind of danger anymore._

_"Do you want to be here? Am I forcing you to stand by while Sam drives around the countries killing monsters? Is this apple-pie life getting under your skin? Because I'm not forcing you to stay here, god dammit. If you wanna leave, please, be my guest. I don't want you here if all you're gonna do is hold it against me that I'm taking you away from the 'life you love',"_

_"I never said that!"_

_"You might as well have! Oh, poor me, I have to sit in my comfortable, safe house while my brother goes out and kills shapeshifters and ghosts! Well go! Have fun! Please, I want you to!" I said with complete sarcasm, nearly in tears._

_"Fine!" He yelled, immediately turning to walk out of the apartment._

_I felt liberated. Justified. If he wanted to sit around and act like a scared little boy, and complain about not being able to go hunt demons, then fine. He was better off gone. I didn't need someone like that around--I was actually serious about starting a normal life._

_As always, however, my liberation didn't last long. A few minutes after he'd left, I wanted nothing more than for him to come back through the door and sweep me off my feet, telling me how wrong I was thinking he didn't really want to be there._

_But he didn't._

_I cried myself to sleep that night._


	6. Chapter 5

I make it home okay, despite the fact that I was in no condition to drive. Blankly, I stared out at the road ahead, completely on autopilot for the entire three hour drive.

The unfolded letter sits on the night stand by my side of the bed. I sit beside it, my arms wrapped around my bent legs. It seems almost impossible to move, impossible to function. I can feel Dean with every breath I take. I feel his presence hanging in the air, like if I wanted to, I could reach out and touch him.

And then I hear something coming from the living room.

My bedroom door is shut, so the sound is muffled. But I can still hear it, and it doesn't take long to realize that it's the television. I slowly get off of the bed. Thankfully, my limbs are still mobile. Cautiously, I open the bedroom door, knowing I'm completely unprepared to deal with any kind of intruder. If it was a robber, I'd probably end up dead. I haven't fought in months. I've barely walked.

But there is no one. And the television is not on. I'm starting to worry myself.

"Hurry up, dammit! You promised!"

I hear his voice echoing into the living room from the bedroom, and suddenly, it's like nothing ever happened. There was never a brain tumor, a funeral, a letter. He was completely fine.

Quickly, I return to the bedroom to see Dean under the covers, a complacent smile on his face.

"What the hell were you doing? I've been waiting forever," he complains as I crawl into bed beside him, thankful for the warmth that has body has given to the covers. I haven't felt that in a while.

He wraps his arms around my waist, and my right hand moves to his cheek. Feeling his stubble against my palm brings a grin to my lips. I've missed him.

"I missed you so much."

"What? I've been here this whole time, Singer. You alright?"

"No. I haven't been. Not in a while,"

"Why? What's goin' on?"

I contemplate whether or not I want to tell him about this terrible nightmare I've been living in, this illusion that has enveloped me. This terrbile world where there is no more Dean Winchester. I choose not to. He doesn't need any extra worries.

"Nothing. It's okay now. You're here now."

He removes an arm from around my waist to push a piece of hair behind my ear. I pull myself closer to him, annoyed with any space that might come between us. Space is no longer an option. He starts to kiss me and I feel alive again, completely at peace with myself. All it took was one kiss, and he made everything okay again.

"Will you stay with me now?" I ask.

"Of course I will."

I turn around, and he wraps his arms around my middle. I fall asleep with a smile on my face, Dean's warm breath on my back. Everything is alright.

But when I wake, I'm alone. And the hole burns twice as bad as it did before.


End file.
